


Eat Me Up

by Basic_instinct40



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bulimia, Dentists, Dom/sub, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Eating Disorders, F/F, F/M, Food Issues, Medical Kink, Multi, Need to communicate better, talk of hand slapping, when we talk out our kinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:00:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23235850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Basic_instinct40/pseuds/Basic_instinct40
Summary: He believed that most of my food fussiness was all in my head and placed himself first and foremost at the center of getting me over them. I would never leave his kitchen, a place where most of our dates took place, without tasting something new. Trent had an interesting way of tricking my stomach into consuming foods I had once deemed forbidden. It worked well until it didn’t.
Kudos: 4





	Eat Me Up

**Author's Note:**

> My first completed original work that will get zero traction and readership, but this is really a story I wrote for myself. It came to life one day while I was standing in the kitchen folding laundry. The main character has no first name and never will. She is very much an unreliable narrator, as well as being an unreliable person. Neither Trent nor Auden are villains, they are both just two fucked up people themselves. 
> 
> Eat me up, my love, or else I’m going to eat you up.
> 
> Fear of eating, fear of the edible, fear on the part of the one of them who feels loved, desired, who wants to be loved, desired, who desires to be desired, who knows there is no greater proof of love than the other’s appetite, who is dying to be eaten up, who says or doesn’t say, but who signifies: I beg you, eat me up. Want me down to the marrow. And yet manage it so as to keep me alive. But I often turn about or compromise, because I know that you won’t eat me up, in the end, and I urge you: bite me.
> 
> Sign my death with your teeth-- Helen Cixous

His new girlfriend was standing on the other side of the buffet table, holding court with my boss, and the vice president of sales. I had been sneaking glances at her all night long, making sure that I never looked at her head on. When I saw her name on the guest list, now familiar to me thanks to Trent’s updated Facebook relationship status, a part of me had been hoping that she wouldn’t attend. She was the lead social media manager for my advertising firm’s parent company; I figured there was no way someone of her stature would make time to attend a quarterly sales dinner.

Yet there she stood in the flesh, holding a glass of red wine and wearing a tight orange-blood dress that would look ridiculous on anyone else that didn’t have her dark honey skin tone. ‘Well screw it,’ I thought, piling my already overfilled plate with sliced cucumbers. She most likely had no idea who I was, and I doubted she wanted to talk to a lowly copywriter. ‘Buck up champ, there’s free wine,’ I told myself, risking one more look at her. She was laughing at something the VP had said, her head thrown back, giving me an eye full of her white teeth. 

‘Ouch, Trent really found himself a looker,’ I tore my head away from where she was standing and frowned down at my plate. I needed to find that wine. 

\---

Walking back over to my table, I thought of Trent and the eight-month relationship that we shared last year. We met the week of St. Patrick’s Day when I was forced to take time off work after my strict three-year diet of lemon tea and lunch-ables finally caught up with me. The result was me performing an impromptu impression of a dead starfish in front of my coworkers during lunch hour. While I had always been particular about food—what kind I ate, when I ate it, and how much of it I would have—I had been careful to practice complete control in how it affected my daily life. 

These particularities with food could cause me to act out in ways that some would call irrational. Certain foods could make me eat uncontrollably, leaving my stomach swollen, and my thoughts racing.The only cure I found to remedy this was to make myself sick, even if it left my throat raw and stripped away my teeth’s enamel. 

The last side effect was becoming more of a problem than I could manage on my own, and it was during my forced vacation that I made an appointment to see Trent Preston DDS for an ache in my bottom teeth that came one day and never left. While I hoped that I could avoid questions for why I had the teeth of a geratic migrant farmer, I could tell from the how the dental assistant was frowning while she cleaned my teeth that I would have no such luck. 

Thinking back to the first time I met Trent I chomped on a baby carrot letting the chatter of my Co-workers as they dined soothe me, counting by 3’s before I swallowed. Trent’s kindness had startled me at first, seeing as his entire persona and demeanor screamed ‘over privileged white frat boy’. He was 6’2 with the broadest shoulders I had ever come across, reminding me of pillaging Vikings that were no doubt his ancestors. I braced myself for a contemptuous lecture and scornful recommendations to seek help, but instead his dark blue eyes watched me with an apprehensive kindness as if he was worried I would bolt from his office, dental bib still tied around my neck. 

When he stuck his gigantic gloved fingers into my mouth during examination, a mortifying shiver ran down my spine and through the tips of my toes, warming me from within. I was always cold, but less so when his hands clenched my jaw. When he asked me out on a date after the visit, I almost said no. I had not dated since college and most of those had fallen to disaster, since I got nervous eating in public. He must have known how I would respond and decided right then and there how best to handle me. 

“We’ll go to my house. No funny business. You can even take a picture of me and where I live. Send it to a friend or your mother,” He told me sincerely, leaning up against his desk. 

I had been holding on to a single sheet of notebook paper where he had meticulously written a regimen to follow if I had any hope of fixing my teeth. Even to this day I kept the instructions in my wallet, his documentation of care written out for me. 

It could have been that I was too ashamed to tell him that my mother and I didn’t talk and the only friends I see are people I work with, that made me say ‘Yes’ to him. Why I kept saying ‘Yes’ to him for all those months afterwards is still a mystery to me.   
— -  
“Are you not enjoying your dinner?” Her voice jolts me from the memories of my ex and her current boyfriend enough so that I jump in my seat. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” She tells me with a wide smile. Her hand goes to rest on my forearm, her touch much too tepid next to my cold skin. 

I pulled my arm back and picked up an olive that rolled off my plate and onto the white tablecloth. I decided to examine the oily residue the olive left behind, then face her big white teeth. ‘Trent must love having her in the chair.’

“I saw you sitting here and thought you looked familiar. I believe we have a mutual friend,” Her speech is poised as a question even though I know she isn’t asking me anything. 

Lifting my eyes away from the stain, I search the faces of the people sharing the table with us, one of many wide that fill the dining hall. Each person is wrapped up in their own bubble, not noticing that I was on the verge of a panic attack. 

“Oh?” I responded to her dumbly, realizing that a longer than normal pause had stretched out between us.   
Out of the corner of my eye, I see her manicured nail tap the table next to my plate that still overflowed with food.   
There was laughter in her voice when she said his name, and when I finally gathered the courage to meet her eyes, I could tell she had been waiting for this moment all night. She lifted her wine glass to her glossy lips and drained the remaining liquid. 

“I’m Auden,” she told me. 

I wanted to tell her that I already knew that, that I had known her name ever since Trent changed his relationship status three months ago, but I was gratefully cut off by a group of senior copy editors. They came over to introduce themselves to her and I figured this would be the best time, if any, to make my escape.   
I grabbed my purse to go, but was half way out of my seat when I felt Auden’s vice like grip around my wrist. She squeezed only once before removing her hand, but the message was clear: Stay. 

I put my purse in my lap, folding my hands over it as if I was in church. Her focus remained on the group, but as she felt my stare, her mouth spread wide into a grin, and her gold earrings flickered under the lights. Stay, her body told mine. 

“Well, my new friend here is having some stomach issues,” Auden told the group in a mock whisper. “I’m going to show the poor thing where the bathroom is, so if you’ll excuse us,” The other copy editors who I only vaguely knew, moved out of our way with quiet mummers of “But, of course,” and “The chicken seemed off.” 

Auden put her hot palm on my skinny elbow leading me away from the party, “Sharp little things aren’t they?” she grinned at me again as she steered us towards the bathrooms, her perfume washed over me, filling my lungs with jasmine and wilting orchids.   
I walked along with her feeling as if I had eaten a wet stone.“I don’t have to go-” my voice was silenced by another one of her glittery head shakes. 

“Come on,” She led me down a small hallway off to the side of the public restrooms. “We can use the executive restrooms, I know the code.” 

I watched her punch in the silver buttons to open the door, wondering why I was still standing there. ‘What business could she have with me,’ I wondered. When the cheap plywood door swung open, she held her tan arm out waving me in front of her. Without a second thought I took a step forward my heels, the only sound between us, on the tan linoleum floor tiles. 

“I’ve had to pee for ages, but someone was always blocking my exit,” Auden stepped in front of me quicker than my brain could process, gripping my forearms to place me by the sinks. “Good of you to come along and help me out,” That grin of her’s was back, but now I was subjected to its full effects. She was taller than me by at least a foot, even without our heels on. I gave myself the gift of taking in her face fully, noticing that her angular nose was off center like it had been broken years ago and set back wrong. 

“You’ll stand guard,” she ordered me, walking towards a stall. “Don’t move,” she added, closing the stall door. My brain screamed at me to run as the sound of the metal lock sliding into place caused my back to straighten. 

I listen to her piss, my back thankfully facing the mirror. On normal days I avoided my reflection if I could help it, not being able to take in the sight of my limp blonde hair and dry patchy skin. I closed my eyes, forcing away my image, and focused on the sounds of Auden. Surely, she had something worthwhile to say to me, something worth these dramatics. 

I didn’t open my eyes until I felt her body heat next to me and heard the sink turn on. My eyelids pried open when I heard her speak. “It was good of you to stay. Can you hand me a paper towel?”

I grabbed her hands when she reached to take the towels from me. “I’m over--,” my mouth was dry as I fumbled for words, feeling how sharp her nails were against my sweaty palms. The memory of Trent standing over me, ordering me not to flinch this time, my palms stinging in the open air of his drafty townhouse. “I’m over him, so you don’t have to, like, lay claim or anything,” I tugged my hand away, drying them off against my dress. 

Auden didn't answer me back, only walking to the trash can to throw her used paper towels away. She stepped in front of the door, poised to leave, but then seemed to remember at the last second that I was there. 

“I’m famished. No one has left me alone to eat a decent meal all day,” She cocked her head at me, beckoning me to her side. “Come help me make sense of the buffet.” 

\--- 

Trent enjoyed it when I would watch him cook, his enormous body hauling out an old wooden barstool for me to perch on. I would always tell him that I wasn’t hungry, feeling up on warm tea before I left my apartment. 

“That’s fine, but I need to prep my meals for the upcoming week,” He would explain to me. “So maybe hold up that seat for me, babe.” 

He liked to lay out all the ingredients in rows, telling me how he would use each one. Jars of honey for dessert, bright green olives in submarine sandwiches, and the wide maple cutting board that he would let me hand dry, our hips not quite side by side, standing by the sink. 

He believed that most of my food fussiness was all in my head and placed himself first and foremost at the center of getting me over them. I would never leave his kitchen, a place where most of our dates took place, without tasting something new. Trent had an interesting way of tricking my stomach into consuming foods I had once deemed forbidden. It worked well until it didn’t. 

His favorite and most effective way of deceiving my stomach was to test me over the ingredients in his dishes, usually some complicated meal I had never heard of. 

“Are you paying attention?” I remember him asking me one day. It was June by then and already the summer heat weighed heavy on my bones, making me tired by mid day. Trent was holding a wooden spoon in front of my mouth full of some summer pasta dishes. 

I focused my eyes on his full mouth that frowned down at me. “I am, I promise,” I opened my mouth the way I knew he liked and accepted his offer. Immediately, my stomach balked at the rich taste of ricotta, the zucchini seemed to come alive against my tongue, and I felt my stomach acid boil.

Trent folded his arms against his chest and leaned against his white gas stove. He wore a soft faded red Coca-Cola t-shirt and boxers with swordfish on them. In the center of his crotch read, ‘I’m A Catch,’ in bold letters. I made myself focus on each letter instead of throwing up. 

“What are you tasting?” He quizzed me. It was what he liked to say to me whenever I tasted his cooking. The pasta sat in my mouth, forming wet clumps. Spitting it out would be my absolute last option, even as I panicked. 

“Hey,” he had called to me, his voice just as sharp as the knives sitting on the corner. ‘I need you to swallow and talk to me.” 

I felt tears form in the back of my eyes and I silently pleaded with him. ‘I can’t do this today, I’m tired Trent, my stomach hurts, I can’t do this today,’ He ignored my psychic begging, huffing out a breath of distaste. He advanced on me, grabbing my jaw in a rough hold. The voice he used was calm, almost sweet. 

“You don’t get to do this all right,” His eyes cut through my face. “I know you can be good, I know you want to be good,” He released my jaw, and I gripped the edges of the barstool to stop myself from falling off. 

I wanted more than anything at that moment to please him, to be his version of good. Tears began to stream down my face, and when I moved to wipe them away, he halted my hands with a whip-like, “No.” 

A shameful whine left my body, and I cried harder, but I summoned every ounce of my will to force the food down. When I was sure that it would not come back up, my body cried harder with exhaustion. My only saving grace from collapsing on the floor was Trent eclipsing me into a tight hold. I cried with abandon as he whispered forgotten words into my ear and rubbed my back, his searing hands easing the soreness from my ribcage. 

He had to bite my ear to calm me down and used the thick pads of his thumbs to rub at my temples. “You’re just tired, that’s all. Let’s take a shower and you’ll stay the night here,” His will was stronger than my own and I quietly went with him to the bathroom where he stripped me naked. 

“I think I’ve had enough of summer pasta, you know. I just received a new cookbook on salads from around the world,” He told me, taking off his boxers. I put my cold feet on top of the swordfish, ciphering off the left over warmth from Trent’s body. In the shower he ran the water luke-warm and crowded me into the corner of the tub, washing me raw and kissing me with more teeth than lips. 

\---

“Be a dear and hold this plate would you,” Auden held out the small white plate for me to take. I followed behind her as she filled her own plate with food, chattering to me about how hungry she was and who she knew from my firm. The plate I held remained empty. 

“Do you want wine?” She asked, not waiting for my answer. I took the empty glass she offered, watching as she went for a bottle of red. “Of course, you do. Although I wished my company shelled out for decent vodka. I’ll have a searing headache in the morning,” She emptied the bottle of its contents, nearly over filling her glass. 

I moved my own out of reach when she attempted to pour for me. “I’d prefer white, if it’s all the same to you,” She arched one perfect eyebrow up at me, but then grinned. 

“Well, I should have asked if you were picky, but it’s no bother,” Auden filled my cup. “Let’s dine at my table.” 

The plate I held was still empty, but that didn’t concern me, especially when I took a sizable gulp of my drink. Auden was strange, but she didn’t seem malicious towards me. She ushered us to her table, continuing to talk. She told me how long she worked for the company, how normally she never attended these work functions, but her recent promotion called for it. I drank deeply from my glass, savoring the false warmth it created in my empty belly. I entertain the idea of Auden showing up to meet me, but her story of her recent job change added up to tonight’s appearance. Her face became softer as she drank more, her wine nearly gone even though we had just sat down. 

“I’ve gotten way too much to eat. You must help me finish it,” I protested, telling her I was full, but she pointed at my plate where she had somehow placed two cubes of white cheddar, four large strawberries, and one cracker. ‘Well I can manage that,’ I figured, picking up one strawberry.   
Auden bit into her own strawberry, and I tried not to stare as her teeth sunk into it. “I love platter food, don’t you?”

I shrugged, saying it was all right. I had recently changed up my strict diet to black coffee, chicken broth, and baby carrots, and it worried me I wouldn’t be able to keep the cheese down. The sweetness of the fruit, coupled with the crunch of the cracker, permitted my stomach to accept the cheddar, but the proper feast was watching Auden’s face as she talked to me. 

‘I can see why Trent is with her,’ I thought as she snuck one more cracker on my plate, this time paired with five cocktail shrimp. She wrinkled her hawk-like nose up at the seafood. “I didn’t mean to get those, I'm not a big fan of crustaceans.” 

I nodded eagerly as if I agreed, although I scarfed down each one. Auden reached up to wipe a crumb from the corner of my mouth, and I gave myself a silent cheer for not sucking her thumb into my mouth. 

The night wore on, but she never ran out of things to say or ask me, none of them ever touching on Trent. If I closed one eye and held my breath, I could make believe we were friends, or a couple on a date. My stomach dropped when she reached for her phone checking for the time and I saw that her lock screen was a picture of him. She caught me looking, but said nothing. 

“I must call a car soon. I have an early morning. Go fill up my drink with anything that’s left and I’ll grab us some dessert,” She got up from her seat, leaving me by myself. 

When we both returned, me with her large glass of red wine and her with two slices of cake that I tried not to look at, I told myself that I would not become distracted by her once again, but would steady myself and bring up Trent. It was silly for two grown women to ignore the obvious. 

“I got myself dark chocolate, and you strawberry,” She waved her hand above the cakes with a flourish. Her grin, one that I had come to relish in such a short amount of time, was wide and shark-like. I thrust the glass in her hand before I dropped it and sat down. My voice was surprisingly even when I spoke. 

“Oh, so he told you.”

\----

I kept myself and my thoughts as organized as possible the first six months that Trent and I were together. It was only in the last two months that the cracks began to show. I had gone back to work full time at the beginning of September, my savings were not enough for me to work part time from home any longer. I stayed at Trent’s house most nights now, following him around like an old dog, thankful for his scraps of food and heavy-handed pets. He would leave for work in the morning before I woke up, but left me a list of things to do and eat that he wrote each night, hidden from my eyes until morning. 

The list made my days simple, allowing it so I never had to make myself anxious about what I was doing next or if I was eating the right thing. He scheduled my meals along with a detailed ingredient list under a specific time to eat. He would call me on his lunch break, sometimes listening to me talk or chew or ask how the list was getting on. There would be uncomplicated things on the list, brushing and flossing my teeth or taking a walk wearing my green button up. Sometimes he would list strange tasks, asking me to jump backwards 15 times at 12:03pm, or sit in the living room when he got home from work and act as if I was a piece of furniture until he handed me a glass of water. Each list I completed brought me an odd sense of pride and desire to not only be good for Trent, but perhaps to be good for myself one day. 

We both decided that I should start preparing my meals now that I was going back to work. Trent helped me pick out straightfoward things at Trader Joes, tugging my fingers out of my mouth in every other aisle to get me to choose which almond butter I wanted, or if I could stomach banana yogurt. Going grocery shopping had always overwhelmed me with it’s too many options and bright fluorescent lights. 

“Whatever you think is good is great,” I would tell him in front of the deli counter, my eyes sliding over the rows of animal flesh. While I preferred for him to make my meals, I knew that it took up a considerable amount of his time. I didn’t want him to feel obligated to feed me and was determined to show Trent that I could do this simple task on my own. 

The first few weeks started off rocky, with me leaving my breakfast and lunch in the fridge every other day. I would make myself sick with worry over leaving the little tupperware bowls behind, that I would run late getting ready, causing me to make a mad dash through traffic and subsequently leave my lunch. Trent gave me a pass the first couple of times, although he would refuse to sit with me in the kitchen during my nightly preps when I did this. 

On the days that I would forget my lunch, my packets of lemon tea would comfort me although I knew I should walk downstairs to the cafeteria to eat. Sitting in my little cubicle with only a steaming mug of unsweetened tea for half an hour was a bittersweet ritual that I sought solace in five days of the week. I learned to rush home before Trent could see the evidence of my forgetfulness and throw the meals into the neighbors trash. 

The second hiccup came with Trent leaving for a week-long conference that was taking place two states over. Since we met we hadn’t spent more than two days apart, or Trent making me at least one dinner. All of my wailing towards him that I would be fine, that I would go stay the week in my own apartment and make myself sandwiches, fell on deaf ears, as he became consumed with making lists, instapot recipes, and packing for his travels. I pushed down my irritation with him, even as he made me recite his hotel information and what day and time I was to eat the pepper steak with brown rice. It still felt like he was betraying me when I drove him to the airport in the dark on a Monday morning, but I smiled bravely at him, drinking in his scent as he hugged me goodbye, smelling like ciderwood and mint toothpaste. 

The absolute worst thing to happen was our local grocery store started carrying these bright red strawberry snack cakes that were oddly out of season for October. I ran out of tea on Monday night and decided I could go off the list to venture out for more. They marked the cakes down for good reason, looking like a schizophrenic’s version of Halloween decorations with their candy red hearts sprinkles flashing at me even from the tea aisle. I have been good for so long, I summarized. I deserve this one box. 

The cakes tasted like someone had described what a strawberry tasted like to a baker who had never had a strawberry. The icing was waxy and fell apart at the slightest touch. It was everything I could hope for and was better than any meal Trent had lovingly cooked for me. I ate half the box in the parking lot of the grocery store, got out and immediately bought two more. If the cashier wondered why my face blazed the same color of red as the writing on the box, they didn’t say. I’m sure they had seen worse. 

My week wore on in the same manner, forgoing the meticulously laid out healthy menu set up for me, to eat the little strawberry cakes, stuffing my face with their shameful sugary atoms. I learned soon enough this was a food that made me sick, causing me to heave into the toilet, leaving my body bent over and inside of me. Sometimes my body didn’t know I was sick and I would have to help it, shoving my fingers down my esophagus, teeth scraping old scars across my knuckles. Trent kissed those scars the first time we had sex.

I would take all of Trent’s face time calls in poorly connected areas, telling him that I was assigned to a project and had to work late. I didn’t want him to see my bloodshot eyes and patchy skin. A familiar image was taking shape in front of my mirror, one that hadn’t been around since March, and I didn’t want her to be the one looking back at him. I return to the store every day restocking up on those cakes, but also other factory made foods and sugary sodas that made my stomach go sour after I ate them. The day before he was due back I called into work and went to stay at my apartment, leaving a voicemail for my roommate that I hadn’t seen in over a month. I brought over a heavy grocery sack. My stomach was empty, but I was ready to receive. My head pounded while I sat in the hallway outside of my bathroom, feeling euphoric and nostalgic. When I was done, I swished mouthwash around in the shower, staying in there until the water ran cold over my skin. 

Before I was due to pick Trent up, I threw all the food from the fridge, saved one meal, into the neighbors garbage can, wearing all black like a burglar. The one I didn’t throw away, a shepherd’s pie that Trent had made from scratch while I had watched from my barstool, I sadly ate at the counter, not even waiting for it to cool down from the microwave, accepting the burn on my tongue as a punishment. 

When he got home, I made a million promises to be better, to be good, to start again because now I knew better, and Trent had been so kind to me. He was worth my devotion. When we got home, he chatted away about his conference, immediately sticking his clothes in the laundry like the responsible man he was, telling me at length about each day even though he had already told me these things over the phone. He knew I liked to be told again. 

“I’m going to shower and then start dinner,” he told me, pressing me up against the wall. “You seem sleepy, we can call it an early night.” 

I nodded in earnest, thankful he was back again to lead the way. ‘An early night, that sounded like heaven,’ I thought. 

“Lay on the couch until I come down, you can only get up to drink water,” He had pressed his entire body against mine, stifling my breath, then walked up the stairs to the bathroom. 

I lay on the couch licking my teeth back and forth, thinking I should schedule a cleaning, and how happy that would make him. I remember falling asleep thinking of his blue-purple surgical gloves. 

He woke me up out of my nap with a loving, hard bite to my chin. The searing pain stretched out through my eyelashes and across my hairline, making me smile. Trent was half sitting on the couch, half kneeling on the floor, his dirty-blonde hair still wet from the shower, and pressed flat against his face. He smelled like his shampoo, one that I admit to using now again, something with basil and black pepper. He wasn’t smiling.

“I just got off the phone with Mr. and Mrs. Patil,” his voice was calm and I wanted him to stop looking at me. “They told me that they didn’t mind if I used their garbage bin, but they do wish I would ask first,” My body locked up at his words. 

“Did you eat any of it?” he wasn’t looking at me now. 

I saved us time and didn’t bother to lie. “The Shepard’s pie, and the green beans.” 

“What did you eat instead?”

I told him about the cakes. I told him how they made me sick. 

His laugh was dark when he stood up, walking away from me and then back. Holding his arms up beside him, he loomed over me and I scrambled to sit up against the back of the couch. My chest was stuttering out with heavy breaths, and I felt lightheaded. I recall the look of consideration that passed over his all-American boyish features. 

“Hey, now. Don’t start that. I blame myself,” He put his hands down and rubbed his damp hair back and forth. “I should have--,” Trent’s voice faltered with all the things he should have done. 

He flopped down next to me and wrapped one of his massive hands around my left ankle. “This was the first time you were really tested. It’s not your fault,” He patiently told me. 

This more anything broke me. It was my fault. I was faulty.

I pushed his hand off in a rare show of force and took my legs off the couch. “You should be mad,” I told him. “This isn’t normal.” 

“Not everyone is normal, and you had a setback,” His hands were on me again, this time rubbing my pointy shoulders. I felt sweaty and disgusted with myself. “I can take some vacation time off--”

I wretch away from him. “No, that isn’t necessary. You don’t have to move your life around for me.” 

He once again held his hands up in front of him. “This isn’t that and you know it. I just want you to be okay. Everything can be okay.” 

I swung my head back and forth until the living room blurred all around me. “Trent, this isn’t okay. I’m not okay. You can’t stay home and cook for me until I become so.” 

All the ugly in me wanted to lash out at him. Wanted to make him see reality, but instead he reached out to me using a voice one would use with a wild animal. 

“I know you can be good,” he told me. “I know you want to be.” 

I wished I could go back and take away the hurt that bloomed across his face when I pushed away from him and stood up. My eyes stung the way they did after hours of crying, even though I had yet to shed a tear. 

“I don’t. I can’t be, Trent. I don’t have it in me to be,” It was the first time I had told him no and I couldn’t go back from that. He still tried. 

“Tell me what you want,” Panic bled from between his teeth, but I wouldn’t go to him. “Tell me what I can do.”

Grabbing my keys from the hook on the door and shoving my feet into my shoes, I turned to look at him once more. He was raised half way up from the couch, his hair sticking up in every direction. But I was already unlocking the front door. “I would tell you if I knew,” I said and stepped out.

I never went back to his house after that night, too afraid of what I might say or do. He tried to call and even came by my apartment, but I refused to speak with him. I didn’t know if I was punishing myself, or if I couldn’t handle the weight of his expectations anymore. 

A month later, I opened my apartment door to find a box of my things that I had left at his place. There was a note inside with his recognizable signature written on it. 

‘I guess you could tell me what you wanted,’ it read. 

\----

Auden’s fork scrapped against her dessert plate as she took another bite from her cake. Her eyes were the perfect show of puzzlement. 

“It’s only cake,” She said around her mouthful of food. 

“But he told you, didn’t he?” I wouldn’t look down at my slice and the smell of artificial strawberries was making me feel nauseous.

She set her fork down on her plate and leaned back in her chair, eyeing me cooly. I held her eyes in our game of chicken, but Auden seemed better suited for these amusements, leaving me to drain the rest of my wine in one swallow. 

“Do you not want the cake?” she asked, appearing serious. 

I rolled my eyes at her, pushing my plate away, which only made her sigh. “Don’t be a brat, use your words.”

“No,” I spat out, furious with her. I wondered if Trent had asked her to come here tonight specifically and do this. “I don’t want the goddamn cake.”

She nodded once, then took a sizable gulp from her wine glass. When the night had started, she had to have had an entire bottle to herself, perhaps more.

“Would you prefer to trade?” She offered. 

The question stunned me into silence. But she was already switching plates. Her hand hovered above my unused fork, her wide brown eyes waiting for my answer. I swallowed once, then grabbed the dark chocolate cake. I ate every bit of it, Auden’s leftover lipgloss included. 

\---

“Walk me downstairs,” she ordered. I went, more than willing, half ready for the night to be over with, but also not ready to be out of her presence. 

We managed to get an elevator to ourselves and Auden slumped against me once the silver door slid shut. 

“Sorry,” she whispered above my head. Her sharp chin jutted into my scalp, and I leaned into her soft chest. “Much too much to drink.”   
“You’ve already called a ride?” I asked. I kept my hands by my side, but I let her own roam across my sides. I wanted to fall asleep while she petted my ribs. 

“Yes, dear. He’s on his way. Ever punctual, that one.” 

I flinched back, but Auden kept me close. “You should schedule a cleaning. It would please him.” 

The ding of the elevators telling us that we had arrived on the groundfloor, saved me from answering. I rushed out first, but stopped short of walking outside. ‘What if he was standing out there?’

Auden strolled up beside me, her coy grin back on her face. She didn’t try to touch me again.

“Oh, don’t be like that. Do you think his part is easy? Trent isn’t a mind reader, and it doesn’t seem like you two had the correct negotiations,” Auden shook her head, but dialed her grin down to a slight smile. “Honestly, it was all bound to spooked you off.” 

I opened my mouth to tell Auden how I felt about her meddling, but before I could speak, Trent walked through the double doors, his face wind chapped from the cold. He hadn’t noticed us yet, and I drank in my first sight of him in more than five months. He wore a dark green sweater under a black pullover that I recognized from our time together. He swiveled his thick neck around, searching. 

“I’ve got a lot going on,” I told Auden instead of yelling at her. “I’m not easy,” I was letting her know too. 

Her laughter brought his eyes to us, and he started to cross the lobby towards us. Auden yelled out, “One moment, honey. I’m coming,” causing him to freeze. 

Turning to me she grabbed my hand, digging her nails into the soft parts of my palm. “You think he picks us because we’re easy?” Her kiss was more teeth than lips. I wondered if he told her that I liked to kiss that way. 

She sauntered away from me without another word, shyly ducking under his arm. He met my eyes once, his expression unreadable. I heard him speak to her as they made for the outside world.

“Did you drink?” His voice carried over to me. 

Auden tilted her head back to meet his eyes, her dark thick hair spilling over him. “No.”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you to my wonderful discord writing group. Sorry.


End file.
